Yesterday's wedding went as predicted.
The mass part was empty, but come food time there wasn't a damn empty seat in the house.
Once that shit was over, I dropped by another spot to have a celebratory drink with a birthday boy.
Apparently I was in a fantastic mood, because I then had an urge to bake for my dad.
He has been bugging me about empanadas for well over a month... I'm talking non-stop "Mija... you know what would be a good idea? If you were to pick up on them... empanadas. Empanadas are always good." Every. Single. Day.
Since today is Father's Day, and my little Pops puts up with so much of my shit (like me calling him a neanderthal every other week, when he frustrates me... although I actually favor the term "troglodyte" because the sound is just.... it soothes me since it sounds so ugly, but appropriate for my rage. Much better than that one time I called him a "fucking idiot"), last night a sense of urgency overpowered me. Something told me that baking a few dozen empanadas wouldn't be TOO difficult, and I HAD to do it. I wasn't even THAT drunk.
Someone must have been smoking weed around me or something...
Anyway, at around midnight, I went ahead and rushed to the store and picked up powdered sugar, flour, baking powder, and butter... since I don't have any of that in my house.
I'm sure the store workers must have thought I was a crazy lady.
I did them all by my damn self... without anyone instructing me (I seriously must have been unwittingly high).
By two in the morning, I pretty much WAS a crazy lady. I was damning the moment I had convinced myself I was a legit Mexican.
The empanadas started out ROUGH:
But by the end, I guess you could say I regained some of my legit Mexican status.
Homemade corn tortillas... now empanadas... shoot, all I need now is to master tamales and I'll add "Maria" as my middle name.
The mass part was empty, but come food time there wasn't a damn empty seat in the house.
Once that shit was over, I dropped by another spot to have a celebratory drink with a birthday boy.
Apparently I was in a fantastic mood, because I then had an urge to bake for my dad.
He has been bugging me about empanadas for well over a month... I'm talking non-stop "Mija... you know what would be a good idea? If you were to pick up on them... empanadas. Empanadas are always good." Every. Single. Day.
Since today is Father's Day, and my little Pops puts up with so much of my shit (like me calling him a neanderthal every other week, when he frustrates me... although I actually favor the term "troglodyte" because the sound is just.... it soothes me since it sounds so ugly, but appropriate for my rage. Much better than that one time I called him a "fucking idiot"), last night a sense of urgency overpowered me. Something told me that baking a few dozen empanadas wouldn't be TOO difficult, and I HAD to do it. I wasn't even THAT drunk.
Someone must have been smoking weed around me or something...
Anyway, at around midnight, I went ahead and rushed to the store and picked up powdered sugar, flour, baking powder, and butter... since I don't have any of that in my house.
I'm sure the store workers must have thought I was a crazy lady.
I did them all by my damn self... without anyone instructing me (I seriously must have been unwittingly high).
By two in the morning, I pretty much WAS a crazy lady. I was damning the moment I had convinced myself I was a legit Mexican.
The empanadas started out ROUGH:
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| Take a stab at (no pun intended) which one was my first EVER attempt at an empanada... Of course the gringo-style crimping would be the one that DOESN'T work. |
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| I heard they were tasty. I, of course, am not eating any of the 48. |
2 comments:
They look pretty good for your first time. :]
don't show your mother... I'll be SO ashamed!! haha
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